Shirt Tales
by deepfriedcake
Summary: A re-posting of an old story from BWR. Set during Season One's "The Third Lorelai." Lorelai is happy with Max and Luke is finally reunited with Rachel. Too bad there's this blue flannel shirt up in Lorelai's room...


**A/N:** Hello again! This is another long-lost story, first posted at BWR and left there to wither away. My rusty recollection of it was of another great story idea ruined by my novice writing ability. I can honestly say I hadn't read it since it was first posted, so it was a pleasant surprise to find out it wasn't the train wreck I recalled. Boy, I really loved those multiple points of view back then, and somehow it does seem to work, so I've left that alone. I've given it a spruce, rearranged some details, and voila! Here it is, newly refurbished.

The genesis for this one came from a pal on the old TWOP boards, MaryM47. She was the one with the sharp eyes who spotted a flannel shirt up in Lorelai's bedroom during "The Third Lorelai." Seriously, who could resist writing about such a thing? Well, not me. So thanks once again, Mary!

For the purposes of this story, Trix's momentous visit has been postponed for a few weeks, so that Lorelai and Luke can deal with that pesky shirt up in Lorelai's room…

* * *

 _ **Shirt Tales**_

She saw it, of course. She wasn't blind and it wasn't hidden. Quite the opposite, in fact, since it was draped openly over the little TV set, half inside-out as though it had been tossed there by someone too preoccupied to mind small details like that. So it registered, and her mind blinked at the sight of it, but instead she turned to Paris, and chatted about the cute outfit she'd put together for the clueless girl from her mother's closet.

With a good portion of her thought processes actively _not_ thinking about what she'd just seen, Rory was able to talk more naturally to Paris about the upcoming date with Tristan, and even confided to her about Dean, something she'd never be able to do under normal circumstances.

By the time Paris left, looking downright hot in Lorelai's clothes and her lips coated in lipstick with actual color, Rory felt exceptionally pleased with herself. Paris had come to her. That was unbelievable in itself, but the fact that she'd allowed Rory to help her was unprecedented. Maybe there was friend potential there after all.

Rory settled herself onto the couch in the living room, arranged her schoolbooks in the order she preferred, and got herself into the perfect studying position. She cracked open the first text and rolled her shoulders to get them into a proper study stance. OK, John Locke. Ready…go.

 _Shirt._

 _Flannel._

 _Flannel shirt._

Because she'd lived with Lorelai all of her life, Rory had taught herself to be single-minded in pursuit of studying. She'd learned early on how to ignore rock music, blaring TV shows, and her mother's incessant chatter. She bit her lips in determination and bent lower over her books. She'd beat this maddening interruption, too.

 _Flannel shirt._

 _Upstairs._

 _Blue._

 _Plaid._

 _Flannel shirt._

She squeezed her eyes shut against the words trying to poke at her brain. This was not going to defeat her. She refused to play this game. She would not speculate. She would not create intrigue were there was none. She and John Locke. That's all there was.

With a nod, she once again turned to her page, underlining the words with her index finger as she read, further emphasizing how serious she was about studying.

 _Upstairs._

 _Blue plaid._

 _Flannel shirt._

 _Luke's._

With a groan she jumped up and slammed shut the formidable book. Frustration made her want to yell at somebody, but of course, there was no one there to hear her. She clenched her fists and flounced into the kitchen.

She yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out a can of root beer that had inexplicably come to roost there. She jerked the tab back and drank down a good swallow, even though root beer had never been a favorite of hers.

Paradoxically, she felt calmer as the fizzy sweetness made its way down her throat. OK, she thought, she could deal with this. Her mom would come home, they'd laugh and talk about it, and soon chaotic order would be restored in their little corner of the world.

She started for the living room again but paused at the foot of the stairs.

 _Luke's flannel shirt is upstairs in my mother's room._

Rory groaned again. She couldn't fight against full sentences. She put the can on the first step and practically flew upstairs to her mother's room. She slowed as she entered the space and walked deliberately across the floor. She could hear herself breathing as she gingerly reached out and picked up the shirt with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, carefully keeping the material from brushing against her.

Raising the arm holding the shirt, she judged that it would practically make a mini-dress on her. On her mother, it would cover well past her hips. The sleeves would hang down past her hands.

Her immediate question answered, she carefully draped it back over the TV set, in a close approximation to its original position.

Purposely she turned and exited the room. She slowly walked down the stairs, sitting on the third step from the bottom and reaching for her can of soda.

 _This is crazy,_ she insisted to herself. _Mom's with Mr. Medina. Luke's with Rachel. This can't be what it looks like. It's just not possible!_

Wild thoughts tumbled across her mind and her hand threatened to crush the can of root beer.

 _OK, OK,_ she thought, frantically trying to find some order and peace in her head. _Do not jump to conclusions. Just look at the facts. What are the facts? Don't speculate. What do you know for sure?_

 _I know there is a flannel shirt in my mother's room. I know for sure it's a man's shirt. And that's all I know, really. It looks like a shirt Luke would wear, but I don't know if it's his. And even if it is his, there are probably dozens of perfectly plausible reasons why it's up there. I bet I could come up with a bunch of them right now if I tried._

Nodding to herself, Rory rested her head on her hand and pensively stared out over the living room, her schoolbooks forgotten, as different scenarios played out in her creative mind.

 _Maybe…Mom was in town…and an unexpected rainstorm drenched her. Luke helped her out and let her borrow a shirt to get home, so she wouldn't get chilled. And knowing Mom, she tossed it in her room and never thought of it again. Or…maybe Luke was over here, fixing something, the way he does every other week. And the something he was fixing made a mess on his shirt, and Mom said, "Oh, hey, sorry, just leave it here and I'll wash it up for you!" Only, knowing Mom, that never happened, and that's why it's still languishing up in her room._

Rory nodded to herself, pleased at both of those excellent possibilities. She felt much calmer, now that she'd put her wildest speculations to bed.

Rory immediately winced over that choice of phrase. No, definitely not 'to bed.' To rest. Whatever. The important thing was that she'd managed to stop with the ridiculous speculations, and now she was free to study without a care.

Lighthearted once again, she moved into her room and fired up her laptop. She ran her fingers through her hair for a moment, trying to block out all thoughts of the annoyingly masculine shirt residing in their girly house. She focused again on the laptop and made the decision to check her email. Paris had sent her twelve messages about their history project, all tagged as 'Important!'

With a sigh, she opened the first one, but her thoughts soon drifted away. That stupid, out-of-place shirt was wrecking her ability to concentrate on anything else. More determined than ever, Rory decided to employ her last-ditch studying maneuver. Long ago she'd learned to counter one distraction with another.

Marching back into the living room, she grabbed the remote and started going around the dial, finally settling on an "E! True Hollywood Story" about the Brady Bunch. She reopened her text and tried to concentrate, letting the voiceover about Maureen McCormick cancel out her concerns about the hunk of flannel residing in the room over her head. However, the soothing voice of the narrator soon made her yawn. Gradually her head leaned to the side, finally coming to rest against the arm of the sofa. She blinked again and again, trying to stay focused, but eventually the book slipped from her grasp.

In the restless world of her dream, the wayward shirt took center stage. Without her conscious thoughts there to direct the scene to her liking, her mind instead suggested another way the shirt could have arrived at her house. After all, for years she'd seen the way Luke occasionally looked at her mom, when he thought no one else was watching. She'd always been aware of how her mom smiled a little bit brighter and flirted a little bit bolder when they were at the diner.

 _In her dream world, it was late at night. There was a knock at their kitchen door. Lorelai opened it to find an upset but determined Luke. You, it's always been you, he insisted. Her mom feebly tried to derail his confession, but was easily convinced…because it was what she'd always wanted, too. There were wild, passionate kisses as they crashed through the kitchen; clothes flew as they made their way up the stairs; Luke's shirt, half inside-out, landed on the TV…_

"Ew! Ew! Ew!" Pure shock woke Rory up. Her arms flailed desperately against the vision conjured in her dream. She jumped up and rubbed at her face, trying to bleach away her thoughts. The heavy book, which had slipped from her hands as she slept, tumbled over the edge of the couch and landed on her foot, giving her another pain to dwell on.

As she sat down to rub her poor mangled toes, she understood that there was something even more disturbing than the image her brain had fabricated starring her mother and Luke. Of all the different ways the shirt could have ended up in her mother's bedroom, the one in her dream was by far the most likely scenario.

* * *

"OK, you know what? I give up!" Lorelai yelled at her daughter the next morning as she parked the Jeep in front of Luke's. "Go ahead and be Cranky McCrankerston!"

"Yes, that's exactly my plan for the day!" Rory jumped out of the Jeep and slammed the door as hard as she could. She shuffled across the street, shouldering her heavy backpack.

"Hey." Lorelai's voice softened, as her mother's instinct insisted she make one more try to reach her sourpuss of a daughter this morning. "What's going on with you? Has Paris launched a new vendetta?"

Rory's scowl eased up as she recognized the genuine concern on her mother's face. "No, I'm just in a bad mood. I told you, I didn't sleep. That's all." What she didn't tell her mom was that she'd been scared to sleep for fear of having another inappropriate dream about her and the man about to cook their breakfast.

Lorelai reached out and stopped Rory before she could open the door to the diner. "Look, I know you've got a ton of stuff to worry about right now," she said gently. "Just don't think you've got to handle it all on your own. I'm here, any time it gets to be too much, OK?"

"Sure," Rory hedged, anxious to just get inside. "It's no big deal. Really."

"OK," Lorelai said doubtfully. They entered the bustling diner and scored a table.

Rory sat down gratefully, letting her backpack crash to the floor. She listened as her mother gleefully quizzed Kirk about the consistency of his morning oatmeal. She sighed and rested her head on her hand. She wished so much that the night before had gone differently.

She'd planned on confronting Lorelai about the shirt. She really had. But somehow, the words 'Why is Luke's shirt up in your room?' had simply refused to come out. She'd tried, in every roundabout way she could think of, to get her mom to talk about Mr. Medina, hoping to trigger a true confession sort of moment, when everything would come tumbling out. But Lorelai was in an especially playful mood and serious discussion was simply not in the cards. Frustrated, Rory had given up and gone to bed.

Luke came over to their table to take their order. Rory watched his interaction with her mother intently, trying to determine if any of their words and glances held more meaning than what merely appeared on the surface. Lorelai's omelet order seemed straightforward enough.

"Pancakes, please," Rory requested, when Luke turned to her.

"Sausage? Bacon?" he asked.

"Not today," she confirmed, shaking her head.

He turned to leave, but Lorelai stopped him. "Wait, Luke! See what I got you?" She pushed her hair up away from her ears.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Luke's voice had that edge of irritation in it that they both knew well.

"These!" Lorelai moved her head so that her earrings danced. "See?"

Luke's fingers drummed impatiently on the table, but he leaned a little closer to look. "And those are for me, how?"

"Because they're coffee mugs!" She pointed from her ears to the coffee mugs sitting in front of them. "They're just like yours!"

Rory stopped scrutinizing Luke's body language and turned to her mom. Her earrings were, indeed, tiny ceramic coffee mugs, with gold wires spiraling out of the tops of them to signify steam. Rory felt a grin spreading over her face. They _were_ kind of cute. She turned back to Luke, anticipating his response.

Just then Rachel came to their table, coffee pot in hand. "What's going on?" she asked cheerfully. Rory noticed that she placed her free hand on Luke's back, rather possessively.

Lorelai's smile slipped down several notches to her 'polite' level. "Just showing Luke the earrings I got in tribute to his coffee," she explained. "Oh! We should get you some, too!"

Rachel tilted herself towards them a little more, to get a better view. Rory noted that she let her hand slide down Luke's back as she did so. "Those are cute," she agreed, with a sunny smile, "but I don't wear earrings."

"Of course you don't," Lorelai muttered, just loud enough for Rory to hear, as both Rachel and Luke went about their duties. Lorelai took a big gulp of her coffee and made a face.

"Ugh. Still not right," Lorelai complained to Rory, continuing to keep her voice low.

Rory twisted her napkin nervously. "Do you think they're happy together?"

Lorelai turned to look at her daughter, seemingly caught off-balance by Rory's serious tone. "Sure. Why not?"

"But Luke. Do you think this is what he wants?"

Lorelai glanced up, watching as Luke squeezed past Rachel behind the counter, heading for the kitchen. "I think he's been wishing she'd come back for a long time. Don't you remember how he lost it when I wore her sweatshirt?" She was careful to keep her voice down.

"But now that she's here, do you think she makes him happy?"

Lorelai put down the mug and swiveled her head to study Rory, obviously not sure what was prompting this line of questioning. "His long-lost love has returned and declared her intentions of staying with him forever. That's the sort of fairy tale ending everyone wants in their life."

Rory rubbed her finger over and over her mug handle. "But she's been gone a long time. And people change. Maybe they're not the same people that they were before. And they're just together because they think they should be."

Lorelai cocked her head to stare at her daughter. "Rory, I don't think –"

Rory cut her off, anxious to continue before she lost her nerve. "I mean, it's like you and Dad. People think you should be together, right? But you don't really want to be."

"Your Dad and I…" Lorelai blew out a big breath of air. "It's a lot more complicated than that."

"But say like right now," Rory pushed on. "You're happy with Mr. Medina, right? But what if Dad came to you now, and said the right things, and did the right things. Would you go with him?"

Lorelai was shaking her head, looking perturbed. "That's just way too hypothetical to even consider."

Rory gave a tiny mew of frustration and sipped at her coffee. "OK, hypothetically, let's say that someone comes to you, maybe someone you've been attracted to, and they want to get closer to you. But you're with Mr. Medina. Would you go ahead and give the new guy a chance?"

"No, I'd break up with Max first," Lorelai said in that calm, authoritative tone she used sometimes when trying not to step over into the deep end. Her eyes swept over Rory, trying to figure out what was going on.

Rory nodded. "So you wouldn't…um, _be_ …with two guys at the same time?" She struggled over finding the right terminology.

Lorelai sat down her coffee mug and turned to face her daughter. "No, I've never been a fan of trying to juggle boyfriends. Rory, where is this all coming from?"

Rory realized she might have pressed too far. "This is all just new to me, the dating thing," she fumbled, trying to backtrack. "I'm not sure if there are rules and stuff. I'm just trying to figure it all out."

Lorelai suddenly went on high alert mode. "Is this about that Tristan kid? Is he bugging you again?" she demanded.

"No, no, it's not him," Rory assured her. "I mean, yeah, he's always bugging me, but it's nothing I can't handle. I was just curious, that's all."

Lorelai's eyes tried to weigh everything Rory was saying against the look on her face. After a second or two she gave a little sigh. "Well, I'm no expert, but you can ask me anything you want about dating, OK? We'll figure it out together."

Rory managed to give her mom a tiny smile before Rachel appeared at their table with their plates.

"Enjoy!" she said perkily, sliding their breakfasts in front of them.

Picking up her fork, Rory hungrily attacked her pancakes, but Lorelai held back, watching Rachel move behind the counter.

"Seriously, though," she murmured, out of the side of her mouth, "is that _really_ who you pictured Luke would want to be with?"

"No," Rory said in resignation, "that's not who I pictured at all."

As soon as her pancakes disappeared, Rory grabbed her backpack and headed out, anxious to get to the bus stop. She turned at the door, intending to wave to her mom.

But her mom was oblivious, staring moodily at Luke's back from over the rim of her coffee mug. With a sigh, Rory started down the street.

* * *

Nine hours later, a tired Rory stepped off the bus and swung her backpack up yet again, ready to trudge home. The hours at Chilton had passed glacially. She'd never been so happy to hear the final bell ring.

As she passed Doose's, Rory chanced a quick glance inside. She missed Dean. She missed the comfort his presence brought her. She missed being part of a couple. All-in-all, she still wasn't certain that she could say she loved him, but she sure liked him a lot. Wasn't that enough?

For one brief, crazy moment, she seriously thought about going inside so she could spill everything about the shirt to him. She could certainly use a male perspective, and it would also be a great excuse to talk to him again. She paused, actually considering it, before common sense kicked in and urged her onward.

At home, she changed quickly out of her uniform and paced restlessly through the house, unable to locate anywhere she wanted to light or find anything she wanted to do. Finally, she went back outside and plopped down dejectedly on the glider on the front porch, where Lane found her some minutes later.

"You look like someone who seriously needs some cheering up," Lane observed, bounding up the porch steps and joining Rory on the glider, knowing she didn't need to wait for an invitation. "What's up? That crazy school of yours making you rig a schooner in your spare time, so that you can have a greater appreciation of our founding fathers crossing the Atlantic?"

"Don't give them more ideas," Rory muttered. "Why are you here?"

"Aww, I'm glad to see you, too."

"I didn't mean it that way," Rory said quickly, trying to smother her bad mood.

"My mother gave me permission to come over and use the evil internet to research my history paper, remember? But luckily, I've already done my evil internet time at school, which leaves us all of this prime girlfriend-bonding time instead." Lane cast an astute gaze over her friend's scowling face. "So, do we want to waste it with me telling you all about Pamela and Matthew getting caught under the table in the biology lab by Mrs. Kemp, or do you want to tell me what's bugging you?"

Rory crossed her arms over her chest and looked out over the yard. "I thought Matthew was with Cheryl."

"Oh, that is so last week," Lane scoffed. She paused just a beat. "Are you and Lorelai fighting again?"

"No. It's just…She's not…" Abruptly Rory made a decision and stood up. "Come on," she ordered, leading the way inside. Maybe Lane's fresh eyes would see things a different way. Maybe she wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary at all. Maybe she'd be able to convince Rory it was all in her head.

Rory paused just outside Lorelai's bedroom door and motioned for Lane to proceed inside without her. She didn't want to influence what Lane saw.

Lane frowned at Rory, but stepped hesitantly into Lorelai's room. "What do you want me to do in here?"

"Just look around." Rory kept her face averted, deliberately not looking at the shirt.

"OK," Lane said slowly, shrugging her shoulders. She turned and started walking cautiously around the room. "Well, I don't think it's quite as messy as the last time I was up here," she commented, her eyes darting around, trying to figure out whatever it was that Rory wanted her to find. "Aha!" She dove down by the bed and came back up with a CD case pinched triumphantly in her fingers. "Here's that Velvet Underground CD I loaned you guys. It's coming back with me!"

"Sure," Rory agreed, still striving to keep her eyes from giving away the main fixture in the room.

"So that's not it, huh?" Lane slipped the CD into her hoodie pocket and once again started her perusal of the detritus which had landed in Lorelai's room. "Honestly, Rory, I don't see anything out of the ordinary up here. What do you want me to see?" Lane started to slowly turn, pointing out what she was looking at. "I mean, here's the pile of clothes your mom didn't bother hanging up, here's the stuff she thinks she's going to mend, there's the quilting project she hasn't touched in five years, there's Luke's shirt, there's a bag of stuff she probably wants to return to…" Lane's voice trailed off. "Oh, my God." She turned back, confirming what she'd seen, before turning to face Rory. "Is that it? Is that what you wanted me to see?"

"So, you think it's his, too," Rory said flatly, still standing in the doorway.

"Isn't it?" Lane walked closer to the shirt, and Rory slowly joined her there. "I mean, it sure looks like one of his shirts, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. It does."

Lane's quick brain was bouncing nimbly over all possible meanings of the shirt and her friend's sour outlook. "You like Luke," she reminded Rory, skipping all of the preliminary questions.

"Yeah, I do," Rory agreed curtly. "But he's with Rachel, and Mom's with Mr. Medina."

"Oh, that's right," Lane said nervously. "Well, there are lots of reasons his shirt could be here. Maybe your mom's sewing on buttons for him. Or maybe it's just leftover from the town's rummage sale!"

Rory turned tired eyes towards her friend. "Believe me, I've tried every possible reason I could find to explain this."

"Well, why don't you just ask?" Lane suggested sensibly.

"Because I shouldn't have to ask!" Rory snapped. "If this is what it looks like, it's huge! And Mom and I tell each other everything! Why wouldn't she tell me about this?"

"Right. You and Lorelai tell each other everything. Except when you kiss cute boys in the market. And she wants to date your teacher. And you kiss another cute boy at a party. And she wants to see your teacher again." Lane winced as she heard Rory groan, but she pressed on. "You two don't actually tell each other much of anything when boys are involved."

"Oh, Lane!" Rory rubbed her forehead in despair. "This could mess up so many things!"

Lane made a noise to indicate agreement, then turned and started to pick up the shirt.

"What are you doing?" Rory nearly shrieked, horrified.

Lane sniffed at the shirt. "I wanted to see if it smelled like him or her."

"Ewww! Ewww!" Rory's arms flailed about as she watched her friend analyze the scent. "Well, which is it?" she asked, prepared for the worst.

"It smells like her," Lane stated.

"So what does that mean?" Rory asked, too harried to process.

Lane shrugged as she replaced the shirt. "It means she had on the shirt last."

The two girls stared at each other, trying to decide if that fact meant anything at all.

* * *

Soon after Lane left, the phone rang, and Rory rushed to answer it.

"Hi, Rory, it's Max."

"Oh! Um, hi," Rory replied nervously, casting a guilty glance upwards towards her mother's room.

"Is your mom home yet?"

"No, she had to go out of town to present plans to a group of Civil War buffs who want to rent the inn for a weekend next month. She won't be back for a while yet."

"Oh, that's right, I knew that," Max said apologetically. "You see, I just came up with this great idea about something for us to do this weekend, and I couldn't wait to run it past her."

"Well, that's nice," Rory said politely.

"I meant for the three of us to do," Max further explained, in his usual kind way. "I should probably make sure it's OK with your mom before I mention it to you. But just in case, would you have free time on Sunday afternoon?"

"Sunday, huh?" Rory's brain was on autopilot. "Yeah, sure, Sunday sounds good."

"OK, then, I'll talk to you both later," Max said.

"OK, Mr. Medina."

"Max," he reminded her.

"Sure, Max. Bye."

Rory placed the cordless phone in the charger. And suddenly, she was mad. She was angrier than she could ever remember being. This was her life, too, that her mother was treating so callously.

She dashed upstairs and scooped up the hated shirt, and stuffed it into a crumpled plastic bag that had been lying on the floor. In no time she was back downstairs and rushing out the front door, her feet beating a path to the center of town.

She was furious with her mother, the mother who seemed incapable of keeping her mouth shut, except when something really momentous was occurring. The mother who was dead-set on ignoring the handsome diner man until he was occupied with someone else. And Luke! She was so mad at him and his inability to keep his stupid shirt on! He'd had years to make a move on her mom, but no! He had to wait until now to do it! Fuming, she realized she was even angry with Mr. Medina and his persistent overtures to weasel his way into their lives. Why couldn't he just leave them alone?

She blew into the diner on a storm of hurt feelings, her distress so evident that Luke seemed to sense it and spun around in alarm.

He was by her side in a moment, his face set in concern. "Hey, you OK?" His eyes scanned outside, trying to see anything or anybody that might have upset her, instantly ready to go to her defense.

"I need to talk to you," she demanded.

"Sure," he said, although he sounded cautious.

"In private," she hissed.

"OK," he said, obviously perplexed. He stepped over to Caesar and said a quick word, before motioning for Rory to follow him through the curtain and down the hall to the storeroom.

"Close the door," she told him after they were both in the room.

Luke's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Not a chance."

"Fine. Have it your way," Rory seethed, and threw the bag at him as hard as she could.

Automatically, Luke reached out and snatched it out of the air. "What's this?"

"You tell me," Rory said petulantly.

He poked into the bag. "Where'd you get my shirt?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"So…it _is_ your shirt?" Rory gulped.

"Maybe." Luke was trying to open the collar to get to the label. "Where'd you find it?"

"In my mother's bedroom," Rory announced smartly.

Abruptly, Luke stopped everything he was doing for a moment, frozen. Just as abruptly he turned and kicked shut the door before continuing his examination of the shirt.

"It's not mine," he announced, a deadly tone now overlaying his voice. His fingers all but strangled the shirt as he pushed it back into the bag. He tossed it to Rory.

"You're sure?" She was even more puzzled now.

"Oh, I'm sure!" he said bitterly.

"It looks like yours," she commented hesitantly, still trying to put the pieces together.

"Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving," he seethed, starting to pace around the small room.

"Luke," she said, uncertainly. His demeanor was making her nervous.

He stopped and fixed her with a glare. "Doesn't it belong to your fancy teacher?"

"No, it's not Mr. Medina's," she explained. "He's more of a button-down guy. And besides, he's never…he hasn't…He hasn't been at our house like that."

He snorted a derisive laugh. "Somebody has."

"I'm really sorry, Luke. I…I shouldn't have…" Her words caught in her throat as Luke turned towards her, his face like granite, his eyes turned dark with just barely-suppressed fury. Rory began to realize that bringing the shirt to him was a mistake of massively epic proportions.

"Go home, Rory," he said in such a quiet, deadly voice that her heart stopped beating for a moment.

"Luke," she tried again.

 _"Go home."_ He yanked open the door and stood there, staring down at the floor, breathing hard.

She scurried past him, blindly following the dark hallway back to the diner. She heard the door slam closed behind her, and a second later something heavy and breakable crashed against it, something apparently thrown with tremendous force.

She pushed through the curtain and nearly ran over a stunned Caesar, who was coming to investigate the crash. "Sorry," she gasped, as he reached out to steady her. "I'm sorry!" She ducked under his arm and rushed out of the diner, heading home toward safety, with the sounds of breaking glass hitting the storeroom door still echoing in her head.

* * *

As Lorelai finally drove back into Stars Hollow that night, her stomach rumbled yet again.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," she muttered.

Her trip to nail down the details with the Civil War buffs had been productive but mind-numbingly dull. Apparently, something in their bylaws required them to behave like Taylor Doose on a bad day. Every tiny detail of their stay had to be planned out with precision. 'Free time' was not a concept they embraced. A mere 25 minutes into her visit had Lorelai ready to climb out of a balcony window. Except there wasn't a balcony. And this was her business, so she just had to suck it up and persevere.

Worse, she'd discovered about an hour into her trip that she didn't have her wallet. That meant no coffee, or snacks, or huge tacos to tide her over until she got home. Of course, she also didn't have her driver's license, but she worried less about being pulled over by a state trooper than what a caffeine-less day would do to her system designed to be dependent on it. She didn't think it would be pretty.

The 171st Infantry Brigade had fed her tiny tea sandwiches and lemonade during her visit, and she'd found enough change hidden in the Jeep's upholstery to buy one bitter cup of coffee and a Slim-Jim at a convenience store, but she was definitely running on empty as she cruised down the main street of Stars Hollow, heading towards home. The faint light from Luke's was better than a candle in the window for her, the weary, hungry traveler.

She parked, hopped out, and dashed towards the dimly-lit diner, fervently hoping that Luke would agree to make her a burger and let her have whatever coffee was still in the pot. Her momentum carried her into the diner, where she skidded to a stop. The bells jangled happily over her head, in direct contrast to what she beheld.

Before her was a baleful Luke, sitting in a chair, his arms folded over his chest, his face set in an impassive stare. He barely blinked when she rushed in. He said nothing.

Lorelai had a weird feeling that he'd been waiting for _her._ A sense of things being very, very wrong started shivering up and down her spine, but an even greater fear hit her that something terrible had happened. She crossed the room quickly, leaning down when she reached him to look into his face, since he refused to look at her.

"What is it?" she asked, panicked. "Are you OK?" She put her hand on his shoulder, but snatched it back, stunned, when she felt him flinch under her touch. "God, Luke, what's wrong?"

"Rory came to see me today," he said coldly.

Instantly Lorelai gasped and stood up straight, her hand covering her mouth in fear, and Luke hated, _hated_ , that even now he was angry at himself for frightening her, for making her think something might be wrong with Rory.

"She's fine," he said brusquely.

"Really?" she asked, with that little catch in her throat that always made a tremor run through him.

"Oh, she's fine. She just wanted to talk to me about something," he said with icy sarcasm.

"OK," Lorelai said simply. She didn't have a clue what was wrong, but she'd been around Luke long enough to recognize when he'd reached his limit. Whatever had set him off, she knew better than to try to tease and flirt right now. It would be better to just let him rant and get it out.

"She brought me the shirt," he stated, finally allowing himself to glance over at her.

"The shirt?" Still clueless, Lorelai gave her head a shake.

Luke fixed her with a freezing look. "Wow," he said, with a mirthless chuckle. "So you've got so many men's shirts up in your room that you don't even know which one I'm talking about, huh?"

"Luke…" she started to cajole him, trying to buy some time to figure out what was wrong, but he wasn't having any of it.

"The _shirt_!" he thundered, rising up out of the chair and throwing his arms out wide. "The flannel shirt that your daughter found up in your room and just assumed was mine! _That_ shirt!"

Lorelai's mouth dropped open when she finally realized what he was talking about. "Oh, God," she breathed out. "It's not your shirt," she said faintly.

"I _know_ it's not my shirt, Lorelai! That's what I told Rory!" His fists crashed down on the table as he spoke, emphasizing his words. "Who _does_ it belong to?"

Lorelai's brain was a jumble of confusion. "What?" she mumbled.

"I want to know whose shirt it is!" he bellowed belligerently.

Lorelai's head jerked up as she processed his demand, and her embarrassment started to tip over into irritation. "That's none of your business," she snapped.

"Yes, it is!" he insisted loudly. "When your daughter assumes I'm the one who's been screwing around with her mother, that makes it my business! Now, who is he?"

"Why don't you just ask Patty or Babette!" she yelled back at him. "I bet they'd love to tell you!"

"There is someone else?" he asked, suddenly still. "Someone besides the teacher?"

"You don't –" she started, but then stopped, because she could see actual hurt in his eyes, and even with her quick tongue, she wasn't able to come up with any words that might soothe him.

He turned away, squaring his shoulders. "Man, you take the cake, you know that? All these years, I really thought I knew you, probably better than anyone else in this town. I knew you talked big, mainly to hide behind those words, so nobody'd know how scared you really were. I knew you flirted, and tossed out all the dirty stuff, and acted the way you did, just to give yourself confidence. I never dreamed that you'd actually go whoring around, especially not where Rory'd find it."

Her head snapped backwards, as though he'd slapped her. "Hey, Luke," she taunted, as soon as her brain started working again, "you know that line we've had, all of these years? That line that we've danced all over? That line where we weren't sure if we loved each other or we hated each other? Well, thanks, buddy, you've pushed us over the line tonight! And guess what? It's hate! _I hate you!_ Thanks so much for clearing that up!"

"Any time!" Luke sneered.

"I don't ever want to see you again!" Lorelai raged, turning towards the door.

"That sounds about right to me!" he yelled back.

Lorelai caught her reflection in the glass of the door and turned, yanking the earring wires out of her ears. She threw the little coffee mugs at him as hard as she could. "I guess I don't need these anymore! I'd tell you to give them to your perfect little girlfriend, but since she has such perfect little ears, I guess she doesn't need them, either!"

With that, Lorelai tore out of the diner and took off down the street, in such a blind rage she totally forgot about her Jeep parked there, patiently waiting for her.

* * *

Rory looked up, startled, as her mother crashed into their house, her hair wild and her face looking like she was desperate to cry, but her iron Gilmore will wasn't permitting it.

"Mom!" she gasped. She jumped up, ready to run over to her. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Me? Sure, I'm fine," Lorelai said sarcastically. Her hands rubbed up and down her arms as she commenced pacing. "I hear you've had a really big day."

"Me?" Rory sat back down on the couch, watching her mother warily. She wasn't the biggest Star Wars fan, but even she had a really bad feeling about this.

"I'm guessing you flew to the Middle East and pacified the heck out of the situation there. Probably got a Nobel Peace Prize coming your way. And then you thought, well, what's left? Who can use my conflict resolution skills next? I know! Let me rile up Luke Danes!" Lorelai's voice was getting shriller as she talked faster and faster.

"Oh, no," Rory whispered. _"Oh, no!"_ The thought that the normally-reticent Luke might say something to her mother about the shirt had never occurred to her.

"Oh, yes!" Lorelai mocked. "Oh, he was just too happy to tell me exactly what he thought about me!" Her irritation and anger suddenly evaporated, leaving her bewildered and broken. "Rory, _why_ did you do that?" she asked in despair.

"Mom, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Rory reached up and clutched at Lorelai's arm, pulling her down on the couch beside her. "I didn't mean to make trouble. You've got to believe me!"

"Rory, why would you…" Lorelai buried her face in her hands as all of the questions in her head snuffed out her voice momentarily. "Why would you go to him? If you found the shirt, and thought… _Oh, my God_ …thought it was his, why didn't you come to me? What possessed you to go to Luke?" she wailed.

Rory winced. "I was really upset. I thought this was something you weren't telling me again, and the timing was terrible, because you're all happy with Mr. Medina, and Luke's got Rachel back. So, I thought maybe I could go to Luke, and he'd see reason better than you would, and he'd back off."

Lorelai stared wide-eyed at her daughter, slowly shaking her head. "What would make you even _think_ it was Luke's?"

Rory scoffed. "Well, _of course_ it'd be Luke's," she said confidently. "Except…it wasn't," she slowly admitted.

Lorelai shut her eyes tightly. "No, it wasn't," she agreed hoarsely.

"It's not Mr. Medina's, is it?" Rory asked.

"No, it's not Max's." Lorelai sighed tiredly.

"Whose shirt is it, Mom?" Rory asked the question lightly, but there was steely determination behind it.

"It's mine," Lorelai said, looking up at the ceiling. "I bought it for me."

"What?" Rory asked skeptically.

"I bought it for me," Lorelai repeated. Without looking at Rory's doubtful face, she pushed off the couch and went over the desk. After a few moments of rooting through a drawer, she brought over a crumpled sales receipt, smoothing it out before she offered it to Rory.

"I was walking through the store, and they had this display of flannel shirts. They looked comfy," she started to explain. "They were on sale. I thought maybe I could single-handedly bring grunge back. I don't know what I was thinking, Rory, you know how my mind works! I saw the shirt and I bought it! I slept in it for a few nights! End of story!"

Rory's forehead creased as she studied the sales slip and listened to her mother's explanation. "You bought the shirt yourself," she repeated blankly.

"I bought the shirt myself," Lorelai agreed, sounding exhausted.

Rory sucked in an abrupt breath as everything finally fell into place. "Mom, I'll go talk to Luke. I'll explain –"

Lorelai cut her off. "You'll do no such thing. This is over. This thing with the stupid shirt is over. Me and Luke are over. Whatever we had…Whatever it was…It's over. You don't ever have to worry about that again. It's dead and buried." Lorelai's voice sounded dead, as well.

"Mom, please, let me fix this, I know Luke'll listen to me!"

"There's nothing left to fix. It's over."

Rory clutched at her mother's arm again. "Mom, I'm so sorry." Her voice broke.

"I know you are, Sweets." Lorelai tried to sound like she wasn't a raw mass of pain inside. "Tomorrow, or the next day, I'll wake up and I'll be past all this, and we'll be fine. But tonight, I can't forgive you yet, even though you know I will, eventually. It's just too hard tonight, and I'm too tired."

"OK," Rory said, blinking back tears. "I understand. I deserve it." She stood up and gathered her study materials, ready to retreat to her room. "I really didn't do any of this to hurt you," she added, softly.

"I know that," Lorelai reassured her, and even managed a shaky smile. "I'll see you in the morning. Things will be better in the morning."

 _Except we'll have to go to Weston's_ , Lorelai thought, in absolute agony. She told herself that the pain squeezing her heart was based solely on missing Luke's coffee. She certainly wouldn't miss anything else about the man she now hated.

* * *

Hours and hours later, a sleepless Lorelai slipped stealthily downstairs. She listened for a moment at Rory's door, and when she was satisfied that Rory had finally managed to get to sleep, she proceeded silently into the kitchen.

Once there, she didn't know what she was hoping to do. Making coffee was too noisy, there was nothing edible inside the refrigerator, and even the water bottle was empty, since Dean was no longer available to replace it for them. Lorelai simply stood in the middle of the room, letting the utter silence of the house wash over her jumpy nerves.

After a few minutes of the quiet, a sense of something being there, just on the other side of the door, started to make the little hairs on the back of her neck quiver in alarm. She breathed faster, and even though she told herself that it was probably just the raccoon who normally cased the neighborhood, she couldn't stop the panic from shooting through her. She looked around for something that could be used as a weapon, but unfortunately their lack of cooking skills and athletic ability meant that no rolling pin, baseball bat, nor golf club was handy. With brave determination, she picked up the scarred cookie sheet they used for tater tots and started cautiously for the door.

Hoping that the element of surprise would chase off the intruder before she had to sacrifice the cookie sheet, she flung open the door.

Luke ducked, covering his head, trying to avoid the flailing cookie sheet.

"What are you doing here!" she whispered angrily at him, mindful of Rory asleep not far away.

He reached out and grabbed the sheet out of her hands, since she was still slicing it through the air in her agitation. "Rachel made me come. She said I had to make this right with you."

Lorelai turned away, rubbing the spot between her eyes with her thumb. "I thought I just told you I didn't ever want to see you again," she said crankily.

"Yeah, you did," he agreed soberly. "Did you mean it?" he asked, holding his breath for the answer.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight. "No," she sighed.

"OK." He nodded to himself, running his fingertips over the edge of the metal pan. "That's good, then."

"How about you?" she questioned, bitterness coating her throat. "Did you mean what you said to me?"

"God, _no_ , Lorelai," he said desperately. "You've got to believe I didn't mean any of that."

She let out a big whoosh of breath, and finally turned back to him. He looked so defeated, there on her little back porch, mindlessly smoothing the scarred edges of the old pan that had cooked her so many fat-laden dinners. "Is this going to be loud?" she asked grimly, motioning between them, dreading the fight yet to be.

To her surprise, he shrugged and then cocked a teasing eyebrow at her, and in spite of herself, she grinned at his insinuation.

"I just meant that maybe we should get away from the house." She took the cookie sheet from him and laid it up against the wall of the house before she started towards the garage.

He followed her closely for a few steps before grabbing her arm. "You're barefoot!" he hissed.

"I'm well aware of that!" She rolled her eyes as she hopped over the damp, cold grass. "I wasn't expecting to have to go for a midnight stroll when I went to bed!"

She tugged ineffectively at the garage door, until Luke passed in front of her and pulled it open so that they could slip inside. They both paused for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the different degree of darkness found there.

Lorelai moved past him, cautiously skirting around the odds and ends stored there until she reached an old wooden bench she'd rescued years ago from the discard pile at the Inn. She'd always planned to paint it and use it in her yard but had never gotten around to it. She sat down now and motioned for Luke to join her.

"Is this thing safe for the both of us to sit on?" he groused.

"Physically it will hold us," Lorelai scoffed. "I'm not so sure about the rest."

Both were quiet then, waiting, hoping that the other would start. Finally, Luke spoke, not able to take the silence from her any longer.

"You're sure you don't hate me?"

"I don't hate you." Lorelai's voice slid out of the darkness next to him. He could feel the hurt in the words. "But I hate what you said to me."

"I hate what I said, too," he admitted gruffly. "Lorelai," he suddenly implored, "you've got to tell me about the shirt."

She made a noise of impatience. "I'm not talking about the shirt!"

"Please." He paused, taking a moment to try and beat down the pleading tone in his voice before she heard it, too. "I promise, I'm going to be honest with you here, too, but I've got to know. Where'd the shirt come from?"

He could sense her weighing her various responses, while her irritation at him built.

"OK, fine! The shirt is mine! Happy?"

"What do you mean, it's yours? Yours, like he gave it to you?" he asked suspiciously.

"There is no _him!_ " she cried, her limited patience at an end. "The shirt is mine, bought and paid for! I showed Rory the receipt!"

"I'm supposed to believe you bought yourself a man's shirt?"

"Yes!"

"Why would you do that?" he asked, bewildered.

She paused, and when she finally spoke, her voice was the one pleading. "Luke, _please_ don't make me tell you that."

He reached out towards her in the dark, and his hand first brushed up against her leg before he found her knee. The touch made her jump, and his breath caught in his throat at her response. "Please," he then asked again, no longer ashamed to beg.

"Oh, man," she sighed in defeat. "OK." Another sigh. "Right after Rachel got here, there was a morning at the diner when I saw the two of you. She had on a white tank top." Lorelai paused, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath before she plunged on. "And she was wearing one of your shirts over it," she added, her voice barely audible, even though Luke was leaning as close to her as he dared. "I just looked at her, and I realized then, that I was never going to know what that felt like." She suddenly straightened herself up and spoke more briskly. "So the next day I was walking through the mall, and I saw some flannel shirts on display. I picked out one that I thought you might wear, and I bought it. I brought it home, and I wore it for a couple of nights. End of story, and of Lorelai's sad, pathetic little life. Undoubtedly the worst choice of how to spend $17.99 ever made." She tried to chuckle wryly, to make fun of herself, to ridicule this unexpected drama she'd brought down upon them, but she couldn't quite pull it off.

Luke was still trying to connect the dots she'd laid out for him, because the conclusion he was making seemed, frankly, to be too good to be true. "You…you picked out a shirt that you thought _I'd_ like?" he asked, trying to clarify a point.

"Yes, Luke." She was impatient now to get this humiliation over with. "I wanted to pretend it was your shirt. I knew I wasn't ever going to get the real thing. It was just a stupid urge on my part, OK? I never meant for it to impact you, or Rory, or anyone else, OK? It was just me, indulging some ridiculous fantasy I'd built up in my head for years!"

"This…fantasy," Luke started to ask slowly, his hand tightening even more on her knee, "it was just about the shirt?"

Lorelai made an exasperated noise, trying to ignore how hot her blood now felt, traveling upwards from her knee. "No, Doofus, it's not about the shirt! It's the guy inside the shirt! Geez! Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yes," Luke said thickly.

Lorelai nearly growled with frustration. She jerked her body away from his, but angled herself so she was facing him more, thankful that the partial darkness was probably hiding most of the feelings written so plainly on her face. "Look, I thought we'd have more time. I thought that someday I'd walk into the diner, and you'd look at me differently, and suddenly it would just click for you. I didn't know there was a Rachel. God, I mean, I should have known. Look at you! Of course there was a Rachel. How much of an idiot am I, that I didn't think you'd have at least one Rachel?" Lorelai heard herself rambling and tried to get back on track. "So, anyway, Rachel returns, and you're with her, and you're happy, and I realized it wasn't about the timing, it was about you waiting for her. And it hurt, which was totally crazy, because there was nothing between us that should've hurt. But it did. A lot. But you know, I didn't want to admit that – even to myself. So I went back to Max, which was pretty good, and I bought a pretend shirt. And I kept coming to the diner, and I drank her crummy coffee, and I listened to her telling me that this time she's here to stay –"

"Rachel's leaving," Luke broke in urgently.

"What?" she gasped. "No!"

"Rachel's leaving," he repeated. "She's packed and waiting for a taxi to take her to the airport right now."

"Why?" Lorelai raised a shaky hand up to her heart, afraid to believe what he'd just said.

"She heard us," Luke said grimly. "She heard everything I said to you. And more importantly, she heard everything I _didn't_ say to you."

"I don't think I understand."

"Lorelai, I've been the biggest mess today." He took off his hat and tiredly rubbed his head before continuing. "All because Rory brought me that shirt. I was crazy jealous, do you understand? Talk about insanity! I _know_ you're with the teacher. And I'm…I'm in this _committed_ relationship," he said, his voice taking on a sarcastic edge. "But I'm being driven _insane_ by the thought that there's another guy, one who wears flannel shirts, who gets to be with you, too. I wanted to track him down and practically kill him, because I just couldn't stand it. Somehow, I've been able to deal with the teacher, because I figured maybe he was good enough to deserve you, and I knew Rory liked him. But now you're giving some jerk in a flannel shirt a chance too? I was out of my mind, thinking that maybe I had a shot at you all along and blew it!"

Silence washed down over them again, as they both let his words settle. Luke gulped in a big breath of air, while Lorelai exhaled forcefully.

"You always had a shot," she confirmed quietly, a moment or two later.

"Whoa," Luke breathed out. That admission gave him so much hope.

"But…Rachel?" Lorelai ventured.

"Rachel meant the world to me, at one time," he said haltingly. "But we were kids, you know? We helped each other grow up, and we helped each other through some really rough times. It was a mistake, though, to try again. I thought I owed it to her, but I was wrong. I'm sorry, Lorelai."

"No, don't be sorry," she said quickly. "I'll admit, I didn't much like seeing you together, but I understand why you wanted to try. I've got a Rachel of my own," she added. "His name's Christopher, and he's Rory's dad. You should probably know he comes with the territory."

Luke was quiet for a while and Lorelai wished desperately that there was enough light in the old building to see his face better, so that she could get a hint about what he was thinking.

"Are you pining for him?" he finally asked, using the word that he'd once employed to deny his feelings for Rachel.

In the dark, Lorelai grinned. "No, I'm not pining. But we've got a long history, just like you and Rachel, plus we've got Rory in common. It makes it confusing sometimes."

"Do you…Do you wish…" Luke wasn't sure how to phrase what he feared.

"No, I don't," she replied firmly, understanding what he was asking. She found his arm with her hand and followed it up to his shoulder, grazing along his neck before letting it rest against his cheek. He leaned into it, unable to resist.

"He asked me to marry him, the last time he was here," she revealed, and she felt Luke tense. "I said no, obviously. The two of us have never been at the same place at the same time, emotionally or maturity-wise. I used to think he just needed to grow up, but now I think we just weren't meant for each other, after all." She smiled a little, and rubbed her hand against his face, soothingly. "We were kids together. We helped each other through some rough times."

She could feel him smile at that, her use of his own words.

"Rachel knew," he said, after a moment. "From that first day in the diner, when she met you. She knew how I felt about you."

Lorelai groaned. "That day I was rambling on about the coffeemakers? I went and hid in a closet after that. I felt like such a dork!"

"You were _you_ ," Luke insisted. "You were bright, and funny, and personable, and you were trying so hard to smooth over this awkward situation for me. Rachel questioned me right away about you, and I lied, like always, and said you were just a friend, but she never really bought it. And then tonight, when she heard me lay into you about the shirt, she had the proof about how much I really cared."

"I guess she's better at reading between the lines than I am," Lorelai murmured.

"Maybe." She heard him take a deep breath. "So, Lorelai, whatever this is between us, are you willing to take a chance on it? Do you…do you want to try?"

"Oh, I want to do a lot more than try," she said, her voice silky.

Luke's night vision was better than hers, and he reached for her unerringly. His strong arms wrapped around her back and drew her to him. With a single gentle tug she slid over onto his lap, one of his arms supporting her back, the other cradling her head as he brought her closer.

"Don't ever tell me you hate me again," he begged her, squeezing her tighter and tighter against him as he fought the twin urges to bare his soul and to bare her. "Don't ever say you don't want to see me again. It'd kill me."

"No, I won't, I promise," she agreed, nearly crazy with the need to feel him against her. "But you know we're going to fight. Oh, we're going to have such good fights!" she breathed into his ear.

"I need –" he managed to force out, before his lips finally connected to hers. Then there was nothing except her mouth, and her hands, and her chest heaving against his.

Breathless, Lorelai eventually broke away, her hands still frantically clutching at him. "I thought…I thought I knew…I thought it was the same." She nuzzled her face against his neck, driving him crazy as she tried to collect her rambling thoughts. "But this is – wow!"

"What?" he asked, trying desperately to get to her mouth again.

"Kissing," she gasped. "I thought I knew kissing. But this…this is like…" Unable to come up with a good enough description, she demonstrated it again, to his complete satisfaction. When they broke apart the next time, she tried to further her explanation. "I mean, is this the way it normally is for you? So…so intense?"

"This is exactly the way I thought it would be with us," he whispered, unable to stop his hands from gliding over her.

Her head was whirling from how good he felt and how much she wanted him. Already she realized that trying to compare Luke and Max was like putting Luke's coffee up against the brown liquid other places served in coffee cups. Her hands clutched at him frantically, trying to get him closer and enjoy that connection again.

They instantly fell into another deep kiss, and a tiny part of Lorelai's brain was marveling that this was happening at all after the tumultuous events of the day, here, in her old garage, with Rory asleep a few yards away.

Rory's solemn face from just that morning popped into her head, dumping the proverbial bucket of ice water on her ardor. She none-too-gently extricated herself from Luke's embrace.

"I can't…I can't do this!" she wailed, trying to fend off his hands and back herself away.

"Sure, sure you can!" he insisted, his normally impeccable morals eroded by the feel of heaven he'd just had under her shirt. "Here, I'll help you," he eagerly offered, standing up and trying to pick her up.

"No, no, you don't understand! I just told Rory this morning how I'd never be with two guys, and look at me! I can't do this, Luke. I need to end things with Max, first." She held him at arm's length.

He drew in some deep breaths. "Of course. Of course you do," he agreed, silently cursing the fact that both of them were so damn honorable.

"And you were just with Rachel last night," she pointed out.

"God, Lorelai, please don't think that –"

"No, Luke, it's OK. It's just the way this has happened, and I'm not upset. I understand. But we can't just jump into something new like this, can we? I really need to talk to Max. And maybe…Maybe you need some time."

"I don't need time the way you mean. But you're right. I don't want us to have any regrets about what we're doing, so we should probably take something of a break here." He paused, unable to let go of his disappointment. "But I don't want to," he growled.

"Me neither." She was silently running timetables through her head. "Two weeks, you think?"

Luke could barely keep from groaning. "Sure, two weeks. That sounds like a decent interval."

Lorelai was starting to inch towards the door. "I suspect that it would be best if we got out of here for now."

As they crossed the threshold, Luke automatically put his hand on her back, but she stopped him. She moved so that her arm was extended between them, and then moved another foot further away. She motioned at the distance.

"That's the safe zone, buddy."

Luke pulled the door shut and moved next to her. "What are you talking about?"

She quickly put the same distance between them. "Don't come any closer to me than this. I can't be trusted if you're close enough that I can grab you and do this." She demonstrated, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling them together, her face snuggling against his neck. He fought to keep her there, but she released him and stepped back away. "See? Dangerous."

"I like dangerous," he insisted.

She hopped up on the back step, folding her arms over her chest for warmth. "Two weeks," she promised him softly.

"Two weeks," he agreed, with a sigh.

She looked up at the stars, then down at her clammy, dirty toes, before looking at him, standing patiently in her yard. "Luke, this isn't some sort of weird dream, is it? All the stuff we just said, it really happened, right?"

A grin struggled onto his face as he stuffed his hands safely into his pockets. "Why don't you come to the diner for breakfast in the morning and we'll see if we both feel the same way in the daylight?"

"But how – how will I recognize you?" she asked dramatically.

"I'll be the one in the flannel shirt," he reminded her.

She chuckled at that. "And I won't!" she promised. She blew him a kiss as he turned to leave. "See you in the morning!"

"Sweet dreams, Lorelai." Resolutely, he made his legs start the trek back towards the diner.

She watched as he disappeared into the darkness. "They won't be sweet," she muttered to herself. Soon she ran inside to run some hot water over her frozen toes, wondering how she could bear to wait until the next morning.

* * *

Kirk had had his oatmeal hours ago. The breakfast rush had come and gone, and now people needing a mid-morning pick-me-up were straggling in, and still no Lorelai. Luke kept telling himself he wasn't worried, but he'd had to throw out Reverend Skinner's burned eggs and toast and start over twice.

Just as he was beginning to think he'd never be able to fry an egg again, the bells sounded the special Lorelai tone, and he looked out towards the dining room, incredibly relieved. He ditched the grill and hurried to the counter.

She took her time sashaying up to where he was waiting, making small talk with the other patrons on the way. Her smile was blinding as she hopped up onto the stool, but she gave no other indication that anything was different between them.

"You want something to eat?" he asked gruffly.

She pretended to consider. "I'll have the braised beef tips, couscous, and grilled asparagus, please."

He was momentarily taken aback by her order. "Well, then you're in the wrong place," he told her firmly.

She pouted. "Well, that's what Rachael Ray made the other night. It looked yummy."

"Do I look like Rachael Ray?"

"No, you're a lot taller than she is. And definitely not as perky."

He leaned forward, the better to continue their unique form of flirting, but he noticed Rev. Skinner had paused while stirring his coffee, listening to them. The whole town had already caught onto the fact that Rachel was missing from the diner today. He straightened, clearing his throat. "So, you want pancakes?" He tried to sound business-like.

She seemed to pick up on his concern, smiling gently. "Just coffee."

He nodded, and poured her a cup quickly, before hustling off to take care of his other customers' needs.

When he came by a few minutes later to top off her cup, he laid a napkin next to her, tapping it with his finger.

Curious, she opened it and found her earrings nestled inside.

"Thought you might want those again," he said casually.

"Yeah," she said, keeping her face bowed towards the counter, so that her blazing smile wouldn't give everything away, "I do. Thanks."

He swiped at the counter beside her with his rag, giving him an excuse to lean closer to her. "And just so you know, as far as I'm concerned, your ears _are_ perfect."

She knew it was silly, but she flushed with pleasure, anyway. She picked up the mug with both hands, sipping at the hot liquid demurely, trying to school her features.

When Luke returned to check on her a few minutes later, she pushed her feet against the rung on the stool, enabling her to lean a little farther across the counter towards him. "You owe me a cookie sheet," she told him quietly, but her eyes sparkled.

"How do you figure?" he asked skeptically, throwing the rag over his shoulder and leaning forward to listen to her.

"Well, it's gone. I went out this morning to get it, and it's gone. Either some woodland creature or one of Babette's gnomes stole it, I guess, and it's your fault it was out there in the wild instead of being safely inside my kitchen, so you owe me a new one." She nodded, satisfied with her logic.

Luke pretended to think that over. "OK," he shrugged. "And you owe me a commercial-size jar of pickles."

"I do?" she scoffed. "Why's that?"

"Because that's what I threw at the door yesterday after Rory told me about the shirt."

She gasped, plunking down the coffee mug in shock.

"It's OK," he said quickly, bending down as close as he could. "Did I mention that it made me crazy?" Just as quickly he straightened back up and went about his business again.

Reluctantly Lorelai finished up her coffee and stood by the register, ready to pay. When Luke came up to take her money, she softly said, "I'm going to Hartford this afternoon. I'm going to meet Max after school."

Luke ran his eyes over her surreptitiously as he made her change. She had on a short gray skirt – but not the flippy skirt, thank God – and a royal blue blouse that was doing all sorts of wonderful things to her eyes. She'd straightened her hair and she flipped it back behind her ear now, as she bent forward to take the money from his hand.

"I called him this morning, told him we needed to talk," she confided. "I'm pretty sure he already knows."

"I almost feel sorry for the poor guy," Luke muttered, slamming shut the register. "Losing you." He tried to make it sound somewhat mocking, but failed in the attempt.

Lorelai arched her eyebrows. "Well, I don't have to dump him. Then you can go track down Rachel in Borneo, or Bora Bora, or wherever she went, if that's what you want."

Luke pretended to contemplate that. "Nah, let's stick with the plan. You go dump the poor schmuck."

"And thus concludes the empathy portion of the day." She gave him a little wink and turned to leave.

"Hey," he said, and she turned back. "Come in when you get back to town, will you?" He hoped he didn't sound as nervous to her ears as he did to his own.

She smiled, nodded, and was gone.

* * *

Lorelai bounced back into the diner just as the first customers hungry for dinner were starting to straggle through the door. Her disposition was so sunny that for a moment Luke worried that the teacher had convinced her to stay with him instead.

"How'd it go?" he asked her nervously.

"Great!" she confirmed, sliding onto a stool. "Just as I thought, he already pretty much knew what I was coming to talk about. It wasn't fun, but it went as smoothly as those types of things ever do. In fact, it went so well that I think I deserve a celebratory piece of pie." She nodded towards the blueberry under the dome on the counter.

"You'll spoil your dinner," he said dismissively. "What did you tell him?"

"If you think a piece of pie will spoil my dinner, you haven't met me," Lorelai groused. She held out her hand to him. "Hi, I'm Lorelai Gilmore, the beautiful and kind. Now, give me pie!"

"You left out patient." Luke took the hand she offered, glad to have a reason to give it a squeeze. Grudgingly he dropped her hand and plated her a piece of pie.

"Yum." She wasted no time in getting a bite into her mouth. Luke was still looking at her expectantly, so she swallowed quickly. "I just told him that he was a great guy, but he wasn't you."

Luke looked pained. "You told him there was someone else?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Well, I wasn't going to lie to him."

"I bet that made him feel great."

"Luke, look." Lorelai laid down her fork, and caught his eye. "What Max and I had, it wasn't bad. For me to end that, he needed to know why. And the why is you. Also, I wanted him to know that I never would have started things up with him again if I thought I had any chance with you at all. He deserved to know."

Luke crossed his arms and regarded Lorelai seriously, reflecting for about the billionth time that she was unlike anyone else he'd ever known. "OK," he muttered.

"OK," she agreed, and proceeded to gobble down her pie.

"Eating's not a timed event," he warned her.

"But I want to get home to Rory," she explained around the pie in her mouth. "I didn't get to update her on any of our nocturnal conversations. Big news, my friend!"

"Do you think she'll be OK with it?" he asked apprehensively.

"I think there was a major reason why she assumed it was your shirt, Luke," Lorelai calmly pointed out, as she hopped down from the stool. She took a moment to wipe her mouth with a napkin before searching her purse for her billfold.

"You don't have to –" he started to protest, trying to wave off her money.

She fixed him with a skeptical look. "You'll go broke," she pointed out. "Tell you what," she suggested, as he firmly refused to take the bill from her hand, "once we actually start dating, we'll reconsider, but for now, I need to pay."

Luke grumpily snatched the bill away from her, mostly because other diner patrons were beginning to take notice, and stalked over to the cash register to make change. Lorelai followed.

"Listen, I was wondering," she started, as he counted the money into her palm, "how committed are you to the two week thing?"

"That was your idea," he huffed.

"Right, right," she agreed, nervousness suddenly making a reappearance. "But Max is taken care of, and he's OK, and you said Rachel pretty much knew. So I was wondering, how about ten days, instead? Do you think ten days is enough?"

Luke felt his lips trying to form a smirk. "Ten days from today or yesterday?"

"Yesterday," Lorelai said at once.

"That's fine," he agreed, and her eyes finally stopped their worried flitting and rested on his. Neither of them could look away. "Ten days it is," he said, his voice deep and raspy.

"Good. Good," Lorelai breathed out, completely lost to the look in his eyes.

Bernice, who ran Le Chat Club, delicately cleared her throat behind Lorelai as she stood waiting to pay.

Lorelai jerked her hand away abruptly, an apologetic smile on her face. "See ya, Luke," she murmured, and hurried out the door, anxious to get home to Rory.

"See ya," Luke replied, wondering how he could possibly last ten days.

* * *

Luke was idly standing in front of the grill the next afternoon, his arms crossed over his chest, his mind firmly entrenched in Lorelai's garage instead of concentrating on the grilled chicken breast he was supposed to be preparing for Taylor. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Caesar tapped him on the shoulder.

"Geez, Caesar! What d'ya think you're doing!"

"Sorry, Boss," Caesar said, flinching. "I yelled at you a couple of times, but you didn't hear me."

"OK," Luke took one final breath to steady himself. "What's up?"

"Rory Gilmore's just kind of standing out here. I can't get her to sit down, and she says she doesn't want anything." Caesar automatically began to wash his hands, preparing to take Luke's place at the grill. "Maybe you can figure out what's going on with her."

Luke's hands went to the bill of his baseball cap and he gave it a tug, a nervous habit of his. "It's just Rory?"

"Yeah," Caesar confirmed, expertly flipping the chicken, and wishing he knew the backstory about the pickle mess left behind from the last time Rory was in the diner.

Luke nodded and left the kitchen.

He observed Rory standing by the door, her back to the diner proper. She was still dressed in her school outfit, with that humongous backpack threatening to topple her over. Obviously she was wavering between bolting back out into the street or fully committing to being inside the diner. After a few moments, he made up his mind and his hands moved swiftly to create a special Rory care package. He swung out around the counter and was at her side before she could sense his approach.

He touched her arm and she jumped, mirroring his own reaction just minutes ago when Caesar startled him.

"Luke! I'm…It's just…Here's the thing…I'm…sorry?" She blundered all over the words, not sure how to start, and finally falling back on the one thing that never failed her: the puppy dog eyes.

He shook his head, deliberately taking his focus off her and staring out the window instead. But she saw the smile, the genuine smile that Luke Danes permitted very few people to ever see. She felt her own lips curving into a smile in response. Her initial awkwardness was evaporating.

"Here," he said gruffly, trying to downplay the smile on his face. He thrust a paper sack and a large to-go cup at her.

She peeked into the bag. "Ohhh," she breathed, seeing an assortment of Danishes nestled there. "Wow. Thanks!"

He shrugged. "Well, you missed Danish day today."

She folded the top back over the bag and took the coffee cup from him. She grinned with just a portion of Lorelai's mischievousness, but it was enough to cement just whose daughter she was. "Yeah, Mom and I had a late night. Lots to talk about."

"Oh?" The smile disappeared, as it was now his turn to be uneasy.

"Yeah." She made her eyes all serious. "Did you know she and Mr. Medina broke up?"

He nodded, not quite sure if she was playing him or not. "Yeah, I…I heard."

"Apparently she's found someone she likes better."

"Is that right?" Luke muttered.

Rory nodded emphatically. "Yep. Man, it sure is lucky that that someone had someone else bringing them shirts. I mean, who knows how long this whole thing would have dragged on if someone wouldn't have blown the roof off of it, huh?"

"Lucky," Luke stated dryly.

Rory's full-force grin broke out then. There was no doubt whatsoever about whom her mother was at that moment. "I'm thinkin'…Danishes and coffee from now until my Chilton days are over…that should just about cover it."

Luke looked down at the floor and shook his head, trying to come up with an appropriately gruff, rant-like reply, but damn it, he was just too happy to carry it off.

"I'll feed you Danishes until the day I die," he told the girl sincerely. "Thanks," he added, with an unplanned shoulder pat confirming the depth of his gratitude.

She gave him a beautiful smile, but tried to shrug nonchalantly as she inched towards the door. "Well, someone had to do it," she pointed out.

"Someone who loves Danishes," he observed, opening the door for her.

She bumped her shoulder against his arm affectionately. "Danishes…and Danes, too," she said lightly, not daring to look at him as she hustled down the steps to the street.

Luke had to stand for a moment at the door, collecting himself, before he could turn back and face the diner patrons as the dour man they all expected him to be.

* * *

That night, Lorelai was surprised when someone knocked softly at her front door at 10:30 P.M. It was a little late for visitors. She was even more shocked when she opened the door and found Luke standing there.

"Isn't this past your bedtime?"

Luke shrugged and handed her a new cookie sheet.

"Ooh! Shiny!" Lorelai squealed, rubbing her hand over the untouched surface. "There's a bag of tater tots with your name on it, you beautiful thing!" She grinned at Luke. "Come on in, and we'll christen it!"

Luke braced his hand against the doorframe. He took in Lorelai's appearance. She wore pink sweatpants and a thin t-shirt with a purple, glittery crown stamped on the front of it. Her hair was held up in a messy twist with a plastic clip, and to top it off, she had her glasses on. He thought she'd never looked more alluring. He gulped, and held onto the door tighter.

"A week," he managed to bark out at her.

Her forehead creased as she tried to comprehend. "I don't think you can bake tater tots for a week, Luke. That'd be not good. Smoke, and flames, and bad news all around."

"No." He took a breath, and tried to speak calmly. "I think we only need to wait a week before we go out."

"Oh!" Her face lit up and she bounced up and down enthusiastically. "I think a week is plenty of time!"

Luke stared at her beaming eyes, and tried very hard not to notice the bouncing. "Good. That's good. I'll see you at the diner in the morning." He nodded and turned to leave.

"Luke!" she cried after him, in a wheedling tone. "You're really not going to come in?"

He didn't even trust himself to look back at her. "Not a chance," he muttered.

"Thanks for the cookie sheet!" she shouted.

"You're welcome!" he called back, already halfway up the street.

* * *

He spotted her the next morning, out in the street. It was easy to do since she had on a lemon yellow dress that hugged her curves and a bright turquoise sweater covering her bare shoulders. He was to the door and had it open before she reached the top step.

"I've been thinking," she said at once, breathless from her quick walking pace.

He quirked an eyebrow at her and she pouted in pretend insult. "Keep doing that, Burger Boy, that will definitely win you points."

He leaned a little closer. "Thinking what?" He smiled, delighted when he saw a little shiver run over her from his breath next to her ear.

"Ummm…" she had to pull her thoughts back. "Five days. I think five days is enough."

"Five days would be…tomorrow?" Luke questioned, mentally calculating.

"Tomorrow," Lorelai confirmed.

"Tomorrow works for me," he said quickly.

"Great! So I'll see you tomorrow then!" Excitement and nerves suddenly overcame her, and she would have tumbled right back down the stairs, but Luke grabbed her and steadied her before disaster could strike.

"Watch it," he growled at her. "I want you in one piece tomorrow."

She gave him one of those dazzling smiles. "Huh. I just want you any way. I prefer pre-assembled, but I'll take whatever I can get." She winked and was gone before either of them registered that she hadn't actually made it inside to have breakfast.

* * *

Luke blew out an restless breath as he climbed up the steps to Lorelai's front door early the next evening. He'd tried to play it cool and not show up at her door fifteen minutes before their date was actually supposed to start, but he couldn't help it. Sitting in her living room, waiting, would be easier on his nerves than pacing around his apartment, or driving aimlessly around their small town. He was so anxious to get the night started that he didn't even care that he was currently in full view of her nosy neighbors.

Before he could ring the doorbell, she pulled open the door, excitement written all over her gorgeous face. The fact that her excitement was because of him left him completely tongue-tied, and he mutely pushed a huge bouquet of daisies at her.

"Pretty!" she cooed, taking the flowers.

He shrugged, trying to be cool, trying not to drool over the flippy skirt and black heels. "I heard you say something about daisies one time."

"I meant you," she clarified, tugging him in and closing the door. "You're pretty!" She once again took in what a fine shopping job she'd done, appreciating the black slacks and soft sweater she'd once picked out for the handsome man standing before her. "The flowers are, too," she said, smiling sweetly. "Come on in."

Luke followed at a safe distance behind the short skirt as she headed for the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.

"I never would have pegged Luke Danes as a 'bring a girl flowers' kind of guy," she mused. "Take off the hat and maybe I don't know you at all."

"Oh, you know me," he chuckled. "This isn't something I do often. And by often, I mean ever. But tonight seemed like a pretty momentous occasion."

"Yeah, it is," she agreed. She looked happily at the white daisies. Yellow ones were actually her favorite, but…that might have changed. "Hey, I've got something for you, too."

"Me?" Lorelai motioned for him to follow her into the living room. Sure enough, a wrapped box sat on the coffee table.

She gave him a push onto the couch and sat down beside him, her loose curls bouncing on her shoulders. She picked up the box and handed it to him.

"Open it!"

Luke eyed the package warily. "Fine wrapping job," he commented, taking in the wrinkled Christmas paper and large neon pink bow.

"When it's not a major holiday you take what you can get," she advised. "Open! Open!"

"OK, OK," he grumbled, and then took his time pulling off the paper, mainly because he knew it was driving her crazy.

Finally, he pulled off the lid. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, completely incredulous, as he realized what it was. "You're giving me this thing?"

"No, Luke, it's perfect!" she insisted, reaching over him and pulling out the flannel shirt that had caused the whole uproar. "I bought it so I could pretend it was yours. Now I'm giving it to you, so it really will be yours, and you can wear it a couple of times, and then give it to me, and then I'll really be wearing your shirt! See? Perfect!"

"Crazy," Luke muttered. He looked up from the blue in the shirt to the blue in her eyes, just in time to see a flicker of doubt pass through them. He raised one hand to her cheek. "You're crazy," he murmured again, but this time his words came out sounding like an endearment. He leaned forward, pulled her close, and kissed her with all of the intensity they'd felt out in her garage five nights before.

Lorelai's breath caught in her throat. "Not so crazy." She gulped. "If I was _really_ crazy, I'd say that …I could…put on the shirt yet tonight. And we could …just order pizza. You know…later."

It took a while for all of that to clarify itself in his brain. His breath left his body in a rush when it did. "Where's Rory?" he gasped, the only safe question he could think to ask.

"Hartford. The grandparents thought she needed some culture, so they're taking her to the Philharmonic tonight. She's staying over," she told him, her eyes meeting his boldly.

A million thoughts whirled around his head. Most of them were a variation of _Thank you, God!_

"Lorelai, this isn't…we don't…"

"I know. I know," she assured him softly. She moved in front of him, resting her hands on his chest as she kissed him with a slow, heated intensity.

"I love pizza," he told her, when she finally pulled away. "And," he added, his voice in a low and intimate tone she'd soon learn to recognize, "I'd love to see you in the shirt."

Delighted, Lorelai jumped up and pulled him to his feet. She threw the shirt over his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Your shirt," she whispered into his ear.

"My shirt," he agreed, and tugged her tightly to his side as they walked towards the stairs.

 **THE END**

* * *

 _ **But wait – there's more!**_

 **Bonus Scenes**

Rory came up with three possible ways the shirt could have come to rest in Lorelai's room. Here are those three scenarios, which I've fleshed out and added a few details to that would most likely make Rory blush.

 _#1 – The Unexpected Rain Shower_

The day had been exceptionally pretty, with crystal blue skies and just a hint of summer warmth, in spite of the fact that the calendar said it was early spring. The trees were beginning to leaf out and tulips and forsythia were putting on a glorious show. Rory had a presentation due in her history class which involved multiple pieces of poster board, so Lorelai allowed her to take the Jeep to Hartford. It was such a spectacularly nice day she herself could walk to work and count herself lucky.

The walk over to the Independence Inn was without incident. The day continued fair and gorgeous. Late afternoon rolled around and Lorelai was ready to head home. A phone call from her daughter reminded her that Rory was still in Hartford, having to meet with Paris about a group study project. Well, that was OK. She could walk home. It would be good for her.

Not far from the Inn's entrance, Lorelai encountered Cara Langley and her absolutely adorable two-month-old twins out for a stroll. She had to stop and 'ooh' and 'ahh' for a while, didn't she? No one with a heart could resist _two_ sweet babies! By the time she stood up and once again headed for town, the day didn't seem quite as fair as it had. The wind had picked up and Lorelai felt the need to tug her suit jacket a little closer to her body.

A little farther down the street she saw old Mr. Woods struggling to pull his trash can back behind his house. Lorelai knew from town gossip that he'd recently had hip replacement surgery, so she cheerfully went to help him, throwing a half-dozen flirty quips at him so he wouldn't take offense at her coming to his aid. She waved goodbye and once again resumed her trek home, noting with some concern the dark clouds now gathering overhead.

She debated whether she had time to run inside the beauty supply store, considering the now-ominous storm clouds. But she really needed nail polish remover, and it seemed silly not to stop and grab it now. After all, it would only take a few minutes.

It turned out she didn't have a few minutes. She'd barely stepped back out onto the sidewalk when a cloudburst hit. The spring rain pounded down and even though she tried to stay under the awnings, she was soon soaked through.

As quickly as the rain started, it stopped. The breeze stayed constant, however, and that hint of summer heat was long gone. Lorelai shivered and started across the street. She misjudged where she was stepping and her heels ended up caked in mud.

"Terrific," she muttered. Her once bright day and happy walk home had been ruined.

She pushed her wet hair back from her face and saw the always soothing sight of the diner's coffee cup logo. A hot cup of coffee would be just the thing, she decided, to bring back her good spirits.

It wasn't until she was already poised on the steps of the diner, ready to open the door, that she looked down and really registered the condition she was in. No way would Luke let her come in like this, dripping wet and with muddy shoes. She vividly remembered once during the 'Duke' years when he had refused her service because she had tried to come in after being on the losing side of a water balloon fight. He had bodily picked up her and hauled her back outside the diner when she refused to go on her own. A shiver ran through her again, only this time it wasn't caused by a spring breeze.

She was contemplating miming that she needed a cup of coffee through the window, when the handle was yanked out of her grasp. The door was instead opened by the man himself, who had lost patience waiting for her to come in.

"Did you forget how these things work?" he asked her, his exasperation already at full-force.

"Oh, yeah, hinges!" Lorelai played along, pointing at the side of the door. "I knew there was a trick!"

Luke finally looked fully at her, taking in her appearance. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Moisture fell from the sky," Lorelai confided to him. "It was very wet, and since I had nothing to stop the wetness, you see before you the end result."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Get in here."

"No, I can't," she insisted, pointing at her shoes. "Look at me."

"Ah, geez. How did you…No, never mind." He shook his head, knowing he needed to just cut through all of her usual conversational clutter and get her dried off. "Go around to the back door. I'll meet you there."

"Thanks." She headed around to the door off the alley.

By the time she got there, sloshing and slipping in her wet shoes, Luke already had the door open and was waiting there with two clean kitchen towels he'd grabbed on the way.

"Here," he said, tossing them to her. She instantly started to sop up the water streaming from her hair.

"Take your shoes off and leave them here," he ordered. She tried but wobbled dangerously, so he offered his arm to give her balance. She clung to him gratefully, trying not to appreciate the warm flannel under her fingertips too much. Once the heels were off she was suddenly shorter, and she smiled up into his scowling face.

He swallowed and tried not to notice how close she was standing. "Get upstairs," he said gruffly.

"Bossy," she commented, and sashayed towards the steps. "I like it."

"Just get up there." She could sense his eyes rolling behind her. Grinning, she nimbly navigated the stairs to his home/office.

She stepped to one side as Luke unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter. Strange, she thought, that she'd never been up here at all until Rachel had invited her a few weeks before. The thought of Rachel made a sudden pain shoot through her insides. Huh. That was weird.

"So, where's Rachel?" she asked, looking around and saying her name as nonchalantly as possible.

"She went to Boston today. She needed photographic supplies, and she knows some contacts there. She thought maybe she could pick up some freelance stuff."

"Oh, that's great. Good, good for her," Lorelai's head was bobbing madly.

Luke walked over to the bathroom and pushed open the door, then flipped on the light. "There should be extra towels under the sink, unless Rachel decided to move them." He sounded resigned. "Help yourself and get dried off. I'll find you something to wear."

Lorelai closed the door and instantly stripped off her wet jacket and blouse. Grabbing a towel, she started to dry off her arms and legs. She spotted a blow dryer with a diffuser attachment laying on the vanity, already plugged in. She figured Rachel used it on her own curly hair, and she also figured that Rachel wouldn't mind if she borrowed it, under the circumstances. She bent over, flipped her hair forward, and started to dry her soaked curls.

The noise from the blower completely obscured Luke's polite knock a minute later.

"Gah!" she yelped, diving for the towel.

"Geez! Sorry!" he gasped, slamming the door shut.

With the towel carefully covering her damp bra, Lorelai cautiously opened the door a moment later. "Um, OK, I'm kinda decent now."

Not turning around, Luke thrust a blue plaid flannel shirt at her. "Here. This should keep you warm," he said thickly.

"OK, thanks." Lorelai took the shirt and disappeared again inside the bathroom, finishing the drying process. While she buttoned the shirt, she wondered why he gave her something of his to wear instead of something of Rachel's.

Boldly Lorelai exited the bathroom, trying not to dwell on the semi-naked awkwardness they'd just experienced. "So, um, do you have an extra baseball cap, so I could complete the whole ensemble here?" She spun around, showing off her new look. "I feel so stylish. I can see why this is your outfit of choice." She did a runway strut across the floor.

He smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, it's you."

"Well, the blue does set off my eyes," she pointed out, fluttering her lashes. "Maybe not quite as much as when you wear this one, but still…" She trailed off as she realized that she might have said just a little bit too much.

Thankfully he didn't seem to pick up on her admission.

"Let's get you home," he said, and headed for the door of the apartment.

He motioned for her to wait when they reached the bottom of the stairs, and in a moment he returned with a to-go cup of coffee for her.

"You _are_ an angel!" she exclaimed, grabbing for the cup.

"I figured it would help to warm you up," he explained. "That's the only reason I'm not lecturing you about it."

Lorelai took a gulp of the liquid and moaned as the warmth slid down her throat. "Thanks, baby, that's just what I needed!"

"You need some sensible shoes and an umbrella," Luke groused, attempting to ignore the sexy undercurrent of her comments the way he habitually did.

At the door, Lorelai looked down at her muddy shoes with disgust, but bravely started to wiggle her toes into them.

"You can't put those things back on!" Luke protested.

"Well, I certainly don't have any desire to walk barefoot all the way home!"

"I'm driving you home!" Luke's tone indicated she should have already known that.

"Oh." Lorelai was a little taken aback. She hadn't expected so much chivalry, even from Luke. "Well, I still don't want to walk barefoot across the alley, anyway."

With a put-upon sigh, Luke motioned for her to pick up her shoes. She did, holding them gingerly by the ankle straps. Luke opened the door and before she could ask him just how he intended to solve this dilemma, she found herself being carried towards his truck.

She gasped and clutched her arm around his neck, while trying not to spill any of the precious coffee in the process. It happened so fast that she was already sitting on the seat inside the pickup before her heart started pounding in earnest. As he slammed the door shut and headed around to the driver's side, she took some deep, steadying breaths.

 _It's just Luke_ , she told herself. _It's just Luke._

He started the truck and pulled out of the alley, heading towards her house. He cleared his throat. "I just don't understand how you can be…You know."

"I can be what?"

"You know, you eat all damn day. I don't know how you can be…not heavy."

"I've told you before, it's the Lorelai Paradox." She turned her face to the window, unable to stifle her smile. "So, I'm not heavy?" she prodded.

"No, you're not heavy. Not that you're light, either," he amended. He suddenly heard how that might have sounded to her. "I mean, you're not…You're just kind of…" Helplessly he glanced over at her.

"Perfect?" she suggested.

He grinned, and then chuckled, looking straight out the windshield. "Yeah, you're perfect," he agreed, with just a slight hint of sarcasm.

Once parked in front of her house, she started to open her door. "Don't," he threatened, and headed around to get her.

"Luke," she warned him, softly, as he reached for her. "Are you sure you want to be seen carrying me to my door? While I'm wearing your shirt, I may add?"

He grunted as he swung her up into his arms. "Do you really think I care what the gossips say?" Once he put her on her feet in front of her door he added, "Besides, Babette was in the diner when I left, so she's not home to witness this." He smiled smugly.

She smiled back at him, suddenly shy. "Well, thanks, Luke. Thanks a lot for all of this. For taking care of me."

"No trouble," he insisted, not wanting her to make a fuss. He started back to the truck before he could register that he'd had her in his arms twice and had seen her half-clothed in his bathroom. Those were thoughts he definitely didn't need to have.

"I'll get this washed up and back to you!" she called after him, plucking at the shirt collar.

"Take your time," he said with a shrug. He gave her a casual wave, then headed back towards the diner.

Lorelai dropped her muddy shoes by the door to be dealt with later. She hurried upstairs to take a hot shower and find some dry clothes. She flung Luke's shirt towards the dresser but it landed on the TV instead. And there it stayed, without further thought, until Rory spied it…

 _# 2 – Mr. Fix-It Man_

An impatient knock at the door had Lorelai bounding down the stairs to answer it.

"Oh, you came!" she cried happily, throwing open the door for Luke. "And you brought your friend!" She pointed at his heavy toolbox.

"Of course I came," he scoffed. "You've bugged me about this for two days."

"Only two?" Lorelai stopped and considered, a frown on her pretty face. "I must be losing my touch."

"Yeah, well, let's keep it that way, then." Without waiting for her, Luke started up the stairs.

She bounced along behind him. "So, this doesn't count as part of my birthday repair time, does it? I mean, it was my idea and I found the showerhead I wanted in the ad, and I gave you the money to buy it."

"No," Luke agreed without further comment. He wasn't about to tell her it was only going to take him a few minutes. He reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the bathroom, but came to a stop in the doorway, momentarily stunned by the amount of makeup and lacy, girly things scattered over every surface. Exasperated, he leaned against the wall in the hall, his eyes squeezed shut. "It looks like a Victoria's Secret blew up in there."

"You know what a Victoria's Secret is?" she asked excitedly, bobbing on her toes.

He sighed. "Go pick some of that crap up, if you expect me to work in there."

"Luke," she whined. "It's part of the ambiance of the room."

"I don't work with ambiance," he growled.

"OK, OK," she capitulated, and squeezed past him to collect as many of the offending garments as she could. She opened a drawer on the vanity and shoved containers and bottles in it. "Better?" she asked.

"It'll do," he agreed.

She squeezed past him again to take the undies to her room. By the time she returned, Luke had removed his old green army jacket and was taking the new showerhead out of the packaging. He glanced up at her and she couldn't help but notice how the blue plaid shirt he was wearing today made his incredible eyes bluer than ever.

She didn't realize she was staring until Luke stopped trying to free the showerhead from the plastic casing. "What?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"What?" she parroted, pulled unexpectedly back into reality.

"I don't know. You're looking at me weird. Isn't it the right one?" He pointed at the plumbing fixture.

"No, no, it's exactly what I wanted," Lorelai said. "I was just looking at your pretty shirt and your pretty eyes," she cooed. She'd learned this trick long ago: if Luke happened to catch her while she was admiring something about him, she just flirted harder and turned it into a joke.

"Ah, geez," he muttered.

It worked every time.

"So is the shirt new?"

"Yeah, kinda," he shrugged.

"Did Rachel buy it for you?" she pushed.

"No, Rachel did not buy it for me," he said. "Not every woman has a compulsion to dress me."

Lorelai's laugh bounced around the room. "Well, I don't know why not. That could be like the most fun thing ever. You could be the new Ken doll. You'd get the basic Diner Man Doll, in his flannel shirt and baseball cap, and then you could buy all the accessories, you know? Additional packages of flannel shirts and baseball caps, and then there'd be special GQ'ed editions with suits and sweaters and belts. I see this as being a big hit, Luke. Good grief, you'd make a fortune on Miss Patty alone!"

Luke stopped what he was doing and fixed her with his no-nonsense look. "Don't you have something else to do?"

Lorelai tipped her head and thought. "No. No, I can stay here and annoy you for the rest of the morning."

Luke put his hands on his hips and scowled at her. "Fine. Let me put it this way, then. _Get out._ "

Lorelai pouted. "Luke, it's my bathroom."

"And if you want to ever take a shower in here again, I repeat: _get out!_ "

"OK, OK, have it your way, Mr. Grumpy Puss," she sighed. "Call me if you need me!"

"Don't hold your breath," Luke muttered as she clattered back down the stairs.

He figured he'd only get about ten minutes of peace, so it didn't surprise him to see her head poke back in the door just as he was tightening up the connection.

"You're done already?" she gasped, amazed at his progress.

"Doesn't take much," he said nonchalantly. "I'm just changing out the fixture. Nothing to actually repair, for once."

"Wow, that's great." She came over beside him and leaned into the tub, checking it out. "Susie and I have going to have such good, clean, old-fashioned fun together."

Luke rolled his eyes, even as he fervently wished she wouldn't lean so close to him. "Let me guess. Susie Showerhead, right?"

Lorelai grinned, but didn't change her position. "You're getting good at this."

When he thought back on it later, Luke decided his only excuse was her close proximity. "Did you change perfumes, or something?"

Lorelai reared back and quirked an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I'm trying something new. I was walking through the mall and one of the aggravating spritzer girls got me, and after a while I decided I kind of liked it, so I went back and got some. You like it?" she asked coyly.

"It's OK," he tried to hedge.

At least that got her to move. She started searching through drawers in the vanity. "They gave me some samples of it. Do you want to take it home to Rachel?"

"No," Luke said curtly. The last thing he needed was for Rachel to smell like Lorelai. "Rachel doesn't use perfume," he added, for good measure.

"Of course she doesn't," Lorelai muttered, still rooting through the drawer.

Luke stepped out of the tub and picked up the towel he'd been standing on. As he turned his back on Lorelai to pack up his tool box, she ripped open one of the perfume samples and came to stand behind him.

"So what's that thingy?" she asked innocently, pointing with one hand while her other rubbed the smelly sample over his broad shoulders.

"Crescent wrench," Luke replied distractedly. He swore he felt her touching him. He whipped around quickly enough to see her try to hide the tiny pad behind her back. "What'd you do to me?"

" _Moi?"_ Lorelai asked, with her best wide-eyed look.

"Lorelai!" He thundered. "Did you put that stuff on me?"

"It's just perfume," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now you'll smell sweet and sexy all day. Maybe you'll get more tips."

Luke stood to his full height, his hands on his hips, glaring at her. "Do you really think me going home to Rachel smelling like you is a good idea?"

"Oh..." Lorelai felt a weird squeezing sort of pain through her middle. It seemed to pop up anytime she actually had to acknowledge that Luke and Rachel were sharing an apartment. She looked down at her feet. "No, that's probably not a good idea."

"So what's your solution, then?"

"Um…" Lorelai made herself look up at him and tried to smile. "Leave your shirt here. I'll wash it and get it back to you all soapy fresh. No perfume."

Luke stared at her for a moment, chewing his lip. He really didn't know why he was making such a big deal out of this. Rachel knew Lorelai. Rachel _liked_ Lorelai. She'd understand completely.

"OK, fine," he said, and started to unbutton his shirt.

Inexplicably, Lorelai found herself backing out of the bathroom. "So, uh, do you want something to drink?"

"Nah. I need to get back to the diner."

"OK. OK, then." She was now standing out in the hall.

He laid his shirt on the sink and put his coat back on. He picked up his tool box and looked around one last time, making sure he hadn't left anything.

"Thanks, Luke. This is so great! I really appreciate you doing this for me. I'll think of you every time I take a shower!" The words rolled automatically out of her mouth before she had a chance to proof them. She cringed a little bit when she heard what she'd said.

Luke couldn't keep the grin off of his face when he saw her discomfort, but being Luke, he let her unintentional dirty comment go.

Lorelai walked with him downstairs to the door, where she thanked him again, gave him a message for Rachel, and reminded him that she'd be in the diner for dinner. She breathed a sigh of relief once he was safely out of the house. It wasn't like her to let his sexy scruffiness get the better of her. Usually she could talk fast enough and leap so nimbly from topic to topic that she was able to keep the pesky attraction thing at bay.

She ran back upstairs to turn on her new shower, marveling at all of the settings. When she reached behind her for a towel, her hand touched the soft flannel of his shirt instead. She picked it up, intending to add it to the pile of dirty clothes in her room. Giving in to an urge, she raised it to her nose and took a sniff. She was disappointed to learn it only smelled of her own perfume.

Entering the bedroom, she tossed the blue plaid flannel in the general direction of the clothes hamper, but it ended up hanging over her TV.

That's a good spot for it, she decided. It'll remind me to wash it that way.

She hadn't thought about the shirt since…

 _#3 – The Scenario Voted Most Likely_

There was a knock at the back door, late one night. Lorelai looked at the clock and registered the time as she went to open it. She pulled open the door and looked at Luke with that cute, perplexed look she sometimes got on her face.

"Did I know you were coming over?" she asked, sounding puzzled.

"I didn't even know I was coming over," he said curtly, stepping past her into the kitchen. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and stared at the cow pitcher on the table, shuffling his feet nervously.

"Hey, Luke, is everything OK?" Lorelai asked gently. She was genuinely concerned.

"No, Lorelai, everything is not OK," Luke replied, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "Do you think everything's OK?"

"Um…Good enough, I guess." She tried to smile, while at the same time frantically running through anything she might have done lately to make him mad at her, because he seemed totally pissed about something.

His head suddenly swung up decisively, and his eyes drilled into hers. "Is that what you want, good enough? Because I'm sick of good enough. I'm sick of pretending. Aren't you tired of pretending, Lorelai?"

Every nerve in her body was taught with anxiety. She was really, really apprehensive about where he was going with this. "Pretending what?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm tired of pretending I'm not in love with you," he said bluntly. His eyes remained focused on her. "And don't do that. Don't look at me like you didn't know. Of course you know that! You've known that for years, just like everybody else in town!"

Lorelai's eyes darted around the room. Nervously she backed up until she hit the counter. Her hand reached out to grasp the solid surface. "I…I'm…" She honestly had no idea what to say. Her mind was circling faster than one of those old spin-paint toys. "But…Rachel," she reminded him.

"Rachel knows. At least, she knows things aren't the same. She knows my feelings aren't the same. She knows my heart isn't in it anymore, with her. She's always been pretty sharp. She suspected from the first day how I really felt about you. And to tell you the truth, I'm just tired of trying to pretend otherwise."

"I _like_ Rachel," Lorelai insisted earnestly, as if her support of his girlfriend was going to make a difference at this point.

"I like Rachel, too," Luke agreed. "I don't want to hurt her, but I don't love her. I don't want to pretend with her, either."

"Oh…my… _God_." Lorelai raised a shaky hand to her head. "I can't believe that you're standing here, saying these things to me."

Luke stepped closer. "How about that joker you're with? Do you love him?"

"Max is great!" She said defensively.

"Sure, he's great. But do you love him?" His voice got softer. "Just tell me you love him, Lorelai, and I'll stop. I'll leave you alone. Just tell me he's the one."

Lorelai looked at Luke. Big mistake. Once she looked, she couldn't turn away. She could plainly see the different emotions passing through him as his eyes pleaded with her to tell him the truth. She couldn't lie to those eyes. "I keep trying," she admitted, the words almost choking her. "I know I should love him. But the truth is…I just…don't."

He nodded, but his jaw tightened. "How about the other one? Rory's dad? Is he the one you want?"

Lorelai shut her eyes, desperate to get away from his intense perusal, but she could still feel his gaze. He grabbed her arm and gave it a gentle shake, which made her gasp and open her eyes in surprise.

"You blew me off to be with him," he growled, trying to hide how much she'd hurt him that night. "If he's who you really want, you need to tell me that now."

"You…You have to understand about Christopher," she started to explain, sounding pathetic, even to her own ears. "Everyone's told me forever that we should be together."

"Fine. So that's what you want? That's what you've been waiting for?" His voice turned harsh.

"No." An unexpected sob tried to fight its way out of her throat. "No, that's not what I want!"

He suddenly became very calm. "So, what do you want, Lorelai?"

"You!" The sob refused to be contained and she pressed her knuckles over her lips for a moment, fighting her emotions. "I want you!"

"Thank God!" Luke breathed out, the relief washing over him. He immediately reached for her, unable to go one more second without touching her. He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her tight against him.

"You're sure?" he whispered to her. All at once he lost the bravado that had sustained him to this point.

"What? My tearful confession wasn't good enough for you?" Her voice was weak, not quite up to teasing, but she did her best.

He loosened his hold on her just enough to tentatively touch her face with his hand. He nervously watched for her reaction, and when she smiled, he sighed in satisfaction. "I guess I'm worried that this all seems too good to be true. I'm scared I'm dreaming and this isn't real."

Lorelai's arms had been trapped against Luke's chest when he embraced her. Now she pulled them loose and circled them around his neck. "Let's try an experiment," she suggested, and proceeded to kiss him.

The kiss lengthened and deepened and soon proved everything they'd always suspected.

"Not a dream," Lorelai said breathlessly, when they at last parted.

"Definitely not a dream," Luke agreed in a hoarse voice. He ran his hands lightly over her back, caressed her shoulders with his palms, and burrowed his fingers through her hair. "But maybe we should try it again, just to make sure."

"A second experiment. I like the way you think."

Somewhere in the midst of the second kiss, they both realized that the years they'd spent ignoring the intense physical attraction between them had come to an end. Mouths and bodies were now available for mutual exploration. His hat quickly ended up on the table, covering the cow pitcher. Her sweater found a resting place on the stairs. His shirt, half inside-out, was tossed over the TV set in her room…

* * *

 _And one more thing –_

I've posted a mostly personal update on my profile page. There were certain things I wanted to share with you, but in the past, when I've tacked anything like that onto a story, people commented on the notes instead of the story. So if you're interested in my thought processes or what's been going on, check it out. Then, if you want to discuss any of it, feel free to PM me. And as always, thanks so much for reading!


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